


An Account of Responsibilities

by keelywolfe



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Thorin, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was part of his duties to check the state of the armory, at least once a month. Though Erebor was not at war and no campaigns were in the planning, weapons needed to be at the ready, for often war came with no warning.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Set before the fall of Erebor. As prince and heir to the throne, Thorin has responsibilities. This is not precisely one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Account of Responsibilities

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to add a note here to warn for rough sex ahead. It's not non-con by any means, but it's rough, so if you don't like that, be warned.

* * *

It was part of his duties to check the state of the armory, at least once a month. Though Erebor was not at war and no campaigns were in the planning, weapons needed to be at the ready, for often war came with no warning. 

A clerk could manage it, to be sure, and the eyes of a Prince were not necessarily sharper than those of a guardsman. Another _could_ do it, but that did not mean that they should. It was tedious, boring work, cataloguing weapons and mail, and Thrain had told Thorin more than once that such tasks would do him good. A little humility never hurt anyone his father had said, with a vindictive smirk that had said more than words could about his own years spent handling this very task.

This week in particular Thorin was meant to do an exceptionally thorough accounting of it, assigning the young 'prentices to polishing any scant tarnish that might exist on blade or plating, for this week his grandfather would be checking the armories himself. Elves from the Greenwood were sending ambassadors to Erebor, and allies could become enemies in a trice. 

Best to be prepared, his grandfather and father said, and Thorin listened, spent hours detailing what needed to be done. Time enough that his personal guard had long since been dismissed, save their leader who remained on his feet by Thorin's side despite his prince's impatient protests, waiting until the last axe had been inspected, the last task added to tomorrow's assignments.

The upkeep of the armories was Thorin's responsibility and it was his duty to handle it to his utmost and if he were exhausted at the end of the day, eyes blurred with weariness from squinting at page after page of inventories, then he could be content with a job well done when he took to his bed. Cataloguing the armories and the state of the equipment within, that was his duty. 

Getting fucked over a table by his head guardsman had not been on the agenda.

"Keep fighting, princeling," Dwalin groaned, his hips snapping hard against Thorin's backside. His grip tightened on Thorin's wrists, his thumb digging painfully into the finer bones there. "And I'll come before you. If that's what you want, by all means."

"Bastard! I will have your head on a pike if you do," Thorin snarled, struggling uselessly. Booted feet between his own kept him from moving, Dwalin's weight against his hips holding him pinned and off-balance. And always, there was the thick length of his cock driving into him, jabbing in too quick and too short to be of any use. He was well and truly trapped, and Thorin bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, grinding his teeth in frustration. "I will murder you as you sleep," Thorin rasped out. "I will paint myself with your blood and wear your head as a hat."

"Ah, such pretty love talk," Dwalin crooned. He shifted his grip, taking both wrists into one large hand and Thorin fought hard, trying in that one vulnerable moment to free himself. Only to yelp aloud as Dwalin snatched a handful of his hair, yanking his head until his back bowed. Teeth sank into his shoulder and Thorin cursed, felt the hot trickle of blood seeping from the wound and the tongue that licked it away. Dwalin whispered through bloody lips against his ear, "Tell me more, my prince."

"Harder, you ugly, hairless bastard!" Thorin hissed. "Harder! If you come before me I will castrate you with my teeth, you---ah!" He choked as a large hand closed over his throat, the thumb stroking his windpipe warningly. 

"Now, now, we mustn’t threaten a fellow's bollocks," Dwalin chided. "You'll be wanting what they have soon enough." He gave a hard thrust and let them slap against Thorin's thighs in punctuation. Thorin bit back a keening cry, desperately trying to shift his hips back. Only to have Dwalin ease back, rocking into him in those useless, short jabs. 

"Bastard…" Thorin moaned, thighs quivering. The muscles were aching from restraint, spread wide and off-balance, burning alongside the rest of him. 

"Aye, you said as much," Dwalin panted. His hand left Thorin's throat and tightened again in his hair, tugging as though testing how far Thorin could bend. He went bare inches, straining against the pull though he could hear the crackle of strands breaking. It was far enough for Dwalin to whisper against his ear, "Say what I want to hear and I will finish you."

"I'd sooner bend over for a warg," Thorin snarled, breaking off on an unwilling cry as the grip on his wrist tightened and bone scraped bone.

"Would you?" Dwalin murmured, "Let one fuck you like a bitch in heat in your grandfather's court? You'd put your arse up for that, would you?" As though to mimic, Dwalin rutted brutally in him, pushing down between his shoulder blades until Thorin was arched high, rising onto his toes desperately. 

"Ah! I…would," Thorin grated, "I'd spread my legs and force you to watch as it…ah!" The hard length in him ground in tight, forcing Thorin higher still until his boots only barely scraped the ground, held up by the pitiless force of Dwalin driving into him. 

"Pretty whore for all to see, is that what you are?" Dwalin growled, the hard snap of his hips driving out a garbled cry. "What I don't understand is why you think I care. Now, say it, or I'll not let you come."

"Kill you, I'll kill you," Thorin mouthed, soundlessly, fingers numb, shoulders and hips aching, and inside him Dwalin paused, pressed deep and still. He loosened his grip on Thorin's hair, stroking the nape of his neck tenderly. 

"Perhaps I'll come inside you," Dwalin whispered, "Perhaps I'll pull out and spill all over you, leave you here covered in my seed for any to find."

"No," Thorin shook his head, whining from between bitten lips. "No, no."

"Then say it!" Dwalin let go of his wrists and Thorin drew them forward, painfully, the blood rushing into his numb fingers an agony of their own, and then barely managed to brace on them as Dwalin caught his hair in both hands and yanked him back, riding into him, his teeth clicking with the force of it until one desperate word, nearly a scream, burst forth. 

_"Please!"_

He could feel Dwalin straining, the hard thump-thump within him becoming a blur of rutting and Thorin scratched desperately, uselessly, at the splintery table beneath him, begging wordlessly, then not so, piteous words spilling from him like blood from a wound. _Please. Dwalin. Please. Take me, use me, please, Dwalin,_ please!

Until Thorin was close to sobbing, whimpering as thick fingers pressed where they were joined, rubbing the sore rim as though to push inside alongside Dwalin's cock. 

"That's it, pretty," Dwalin crooned, one finger just slipping inside to the first knuckle, in counterthrust to his length and Thorin roared, the edge of the table cracking beneath his grip. Dwalin pressed deeper as though oblivious to his near scream, "That's it. Such a good boy, my prince."

The pressure within him was excruciatingly glorious, more than he could bear, and the tip of another finger nudged warningly, "Please," Thorin breathed, a cracked, desperate whisper, "Please."

"You ask so sweetly." 

Thorin's mouth opened on a silent scream, eyes wide and unseeing as the second finger strained in next the first, both spread around the length of Dwalin's cock and he was speared thrice over. The sharp stretch of his body was unbearable, too tight, too full of cock and fingers and- "Dwalin!"

Too much, too much filling him and Dwalin pushed in, grunting against him, driving fingers alongside his length, feet shifting and Thorin imagined him bracing his heels against the wall, the heat of his gaze watching his cock disappear into Thorin together with the thickness of his fingers. 

"Come for me," Dwalin said, low, his heavy voice dark with the want of it. "I want to feel it, want your arse clenched tight. Come for me. You want to be mounted like a bitch in heat, princeling? I'll have you, just _come for me_!"

All of it spiraled into a hard knot in his arse, the hot, tight pleasure of it like a whiplash as Dwalin pushed just the tip of a third finger into him. The sharp stretch of his body turned rigid and Thorin was split wide, cleaved by the hot, pulsing rush of it through him, the sputter of his own cock, spitting wet beneath him as he obeyed that harsh voice and came. 

The hot, cramped heat within him only went tighter with it, Thorin clenching his teeth to hold in something like a sob as Dwalin pushed in again, moving in and out in tiny, hot thrusts until he at last pushed in hard and held, roaring out his own pleasure as filled Thorin with his seed, his weight shockingly heavy as he fell over Thorin, settling into his come-slippery depths.

Thorin tasted sharp blood, dimly realizing he'd bitten through his own lip. He could feel it, dripping down his chin through his beard. Wincingly, he licked his lips, tasting a fresh wash of blood, shifting uncomfortably. Dwalin was a dead weight against him, the hot blurts of breath against his neck much too warm.

"Get off me," Thorin husked out, weakly. He tried to get his hands beneath him and stopped when he realized how badly they still shook. Dwalin had not moved, still buried in him and Thorin instead jammed an elbow back into his gut. It was not much different than hitting a wall, though his startled grunt was satisfying. "I said, get off me!"

"All right," Dwalin grumbled. He managed as far as rising to his elbows which at least allowed Thorin took draw in a cooling breath of air. "You do know there is something to be said for a short rest after."

"I'll remember that when you are arse-up over a table," Thorin said, hissing sharply as Dwalin shifted within him. "Enough, just…I cannot…"

"Easy," Dwalin soothed, resting a hand in the small of Thorin's back. "Take a deep breath now, lad, this will sting."

"Now I am a lad…ah!" Thorin bit off a whimper as Dwalin eased out of him, followed by a slick, wet rush down his thighs. Thorin licked his lips again and wondered if that might be tinged with blood as well. His yelp could not be bitten off, shocked and pained as two thumbs spread him open. 

"Dwalin," Thorin whimpered, like the lad Dwalin had called him, like the whore Dwalin had accused him of being, as an agile tongue slicked over his hot, swollen entrance, lapping gently. Dwalin's beard prickled against the tender skin, his tongue pressing in and the sound of it was obscenely wet. 

"Easy," Dwalin whispered into him, nuzzling a last time before he rose. Thorin rolled over, bracing his shaking knees and watched as Dwalin wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Bastard," Thorin told him, ignoring the tremor in his voice. "I won't stand properly for a week and we've dignitaries coming from Greenwood. You would have me limping before the Elves?"

"As if you would ever limp," Dwalin grinned at him, pushing him down and stealing a kiss despite Thorin's sputters, "Beginning to believe you think that bastard is some sort of pet name, I do."

"Likely the kindest you'll ever hear," Thorin shoved him roughly away, grimacing as he drew his trousers back up. His laundress would likely forgive him before his arse did. 

"Would you like a hand to your room, your Highness?" Dwalin asked solicitously, though his eyes were alive with mirth. 

"No," Thorin told him shortly. "And I believe the guard shall have extra drills this week."

That wiped the grin from his face, Thorin saw with vicious satisfaction. "You wouldn't."

"I am reliably informed that it is best to be prepared for any disasters," Thorin said. "You'll tell them, of course."

"I should have left you begging on that table."

"Perhaps night drills as well."

"I'm going to fuck that pretty arse of yours next time until they can hear your screams in Moria!"

It was satisfying to see Dwalin's eyes widen as Thorin grabbed his tunic and slammed him back against the wall, forearm pressed tight to his throat. He clutched at Thorin's arm, eyes bulging and face reddening until Thorin relented, allowing him to suck in a single breath before he pressed in tight again. 

"Do remember who you are speaking to," Thorin told him, coolly, and Dwalin nodded, shortly, lips tinted a faint blue when Thorin let him go. 

He coughed out his last breath, harshly sucking in another, again, before he rasped out, "Yes, your Highness."

Hunched over as he was, still sucking in gasping breaths, he still flinched warily as Thorin slid a finger beneath his chin, lifting until their eyes met. "Besides," Thorin smirked at him, "Next time, I believe I'll be fucking you."

"If you can catch me," Dwalin whispered, eyes glinting, and Thorin's grin widened. 

"Do not forget the extra drills," he warned, "I would be terribly displeased if you did."

"Yes, my Prince," Dwalin bowed to him as though they both weren't still come-sticky and stinking of their own sex, and Thorin nodded regally back. He stepped out into the hallway, walking to his own rooms with the echo of his head guard's footsteps behind him and his eyes dared anyone to say anything about his slightly mussed state. 

He did not limp. 

-finis-


End file.
